


Small Miracles

by whichclothes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-02
Updated: 2010-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-13 11:49:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes





	Small Miracles

  
  
  
  
**Entry tags:**   
|   
[50kinkyways](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/50kinkyways), [small miracles](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/small%20miracles), [spike/willow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike%2Fwillow)  
  
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_**Pressie for snogged: Small Miracles**_  
 **Title:**  Small Miracles   
 **Pairing:**  Spike, Willow  
 **Rating:**  G  
 **Disclaimer:**  I'm not Joss  
 **Summary** :  The holidays can be tough on us all.  
 **A/N:**  This is a holiday gift for the lovely [](http://snogged.livejournal.com/profile)[**snogged**](http://snogged.livejournal.com/) . Also, uses the [](http://community.livejournal.com/50kinkyways/profile)[**50kinkyways**](http://community.livejournal.com/50kinkyways/)  prompt "serving," although not in a very kinky way. Thank you to [](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/profile)[**silk_labyrinth**](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/)  for her lightning-quick beta-ing!

  


**  
Small Miracles  
**

 

Willow looked around the kitchen with satisfaction. Everything was ready. There was the brown plastic bag full of Idaho Russets on the counter, with the peeler waiting right beside it. There were the onions, two of them, big yellow globes that reminded her a little of crystal balls. There was the little box of matzah meal—because flour worked but matzah meal worked better. There were salt and pepper and eggs and the great big bottle of Wesson Oil. There were the big metal grater and the heavy frying pan.

And over on the table, which was set for a crowd, there was a jar of applesauce and a plastic tub of sour cream. There was also a bottle of Heinz ketchup, which was _not_ traditional, but Xander always insisted on it and she’d tried it once herself and had to admit it wasn’t bad.

On the sideboard, the candles flickered merrily in the menorah. They were nice candles, hand-dipped in blue and white wax, and the flames cast moving shadows around the room, as if friendly sprites were there.

Yes, everything was ready, and she bounced over to the sink and began scrubbing potatoes, humming the dreidel song under her breath as she worked.

 

***

 

Three hours later, she slumped at the table with her chin in her hands. A mountain of latkes was heaped on the plate in front of her, cold and soggy and disgusting. The candles had long since burned out, so that the only light in the kitchen came from the green numbers on the microwave's clock and from the moonlight that snuck in through the window. The little bags of chocolate coins she’d bought—thinking they could snack on them after dinner, or maybe use them for a few rousing rounds of dreidel—were still unopened. That icky layer of liquid had collected on the top of the sour cream.

With a sigh, Willow stood. She knew the kitchen would smell of rancid oil in the morning, but she just didn’t have the energy to clean up that night. She shuffled off to her big, empty bed.

 

***

 

“God, I am _so_ sorry, Will! I was gonna call but we were knee deep in Pegrantich guts and Giles was unconscious after one of the demon tails conked him on the head and—”

“Hey, it’s fine, Buffy. I understand.” Willow managed a tiny smile and then slurped at the Mochaccino Xander had brought her. “Saving Cleveland is way more important than celebrating the Maccabees’ victory.”

Buffy patted her on the shoulder. “Isn’t Hanukkah, like, eight days long anyway? We can celebrate tonight! I can totally put off more slayage until tomorrow.”

“Thanks, but last night was the eighth night. We were busy with those warlock guys all week, remember?”

Everybody nodded unhappily. The warlocks had been really nasty. There was an awkward sort of silence as most of the people in Giles’s living room wallowed in guilt and Willow was still too upset to pretend it was no big deal.

Unexpectedly, it was Spike who finally spoke. He’d been strangely quiet since he’d appeared six months earlier, shocking them first by existing at all, and then by informing them that Angel had been dusted in some battle in LA. Buffy had tried to get him to leave again—he was only going to distract her, she said—but Willow had seen the desperate look in the vampire’s eyes and had convinced Buffy to let him stay. “Could celebrate the solstice instead,” he said, fidgeting with his unopened lighter. “That’s in just a few days, yeah?”

Willow sighed. “No, it’s fine. I mean, there aren’t really any traditional winter solstice foods, are there? And anyway, I was just kinda in the mood for Hanukkah. I haven’t celebrated it for years and I thought…. Well, it doesn’t matter.”

It was Xander’s turn to pat her shoulder. “Next year, Wills.”

She gave him the same small smile she’d given Buffy and tackled her drink again. Giles cleared his throat and changed the topic, going on about the newest threat to humanity; and Willow tried to pay attention, she really did, but her mind kept wandering. She thought about the way normal people spent the holiday season, with shopping and parties and vacations and gifts and visiting family, and the way she was spending it. Had been spending it for, what? Nine years now. Fighting bad guys. Averting apocalypses. Certainly those tasks were important, but couldn’t she have a break from them, just for once, just for a little while?

The gathering broke up an hour or so later. Buffy wanted to run a quick patrol and Giles was holding a book and making his Research Face. Dawn was planning on going to see the new Harry Potter movie with a boy she’d met at school and Xander was threatening to go to the theater too and sit a few rows back, just to make sure this boy was fully human and non-homicidal. Spike was silent, just standing there with his arms wrapped around himself like he was cold—and that was stupid because vampires didn’t get cold—and when Buffy left he waited a few minutes and then slipped out the door as well.

Which left Willow. She’d been making okay money selling love potions and things on eBay and sometimes doing a little freelance Linux support on the side. She earned enough that she had her own place, a cute little bungalow where she’d planted an herb garden the previous spring, and where she didn’t have to listen to sisterly bickering. The house was a few blocks from Giles’s and had a few weird quirks, like creaky floors and a temperamental furnace, but she liked it anyway. When things broke, her landlord paid Xander to fix them, and that worked out well all around. The place felt like home. Most of the time, anyway. Tonight as she let herself inside and collapsed into an armchair, it just felt empty.

 

***

 

She woke to the scent of hot oil. For a moment she thought she was still dreaming, but then she shot out of bed in a panic. Was the house on fire?

She ran into the kitchen at top speed, only to come to a screeching halt when she saw what was there. Spike was there. Spike was standing at the stove with a spatula in his left hand and her green apron tied around him. He turned to look at her and his mouth quirked when he saw her pink penguin pajamas and her pillow-mussed hair. “Hullo, Red,” he said.

“What…what…what….” Her mouth didn’t seem to be working right.

“Gave me an invite a few weeks back, remember? When we were up against those sparkly purple whatsits and you needed my help fetching supplies. And your back door lock isn’t nearly strong enough. You’ll want to have Droopy Boy replace it, love.”

“But what are you _doing_?”

He waved the spatula. “Frying. Have a seat, now. First batch is nearly ready.”

She must be dreaming still, she decided. But she walked obediently over to the table and plopped down into a chair. A single place was set, with some fancy, gold-rimmed china she’d never seen before and silverware that was really silver, heavy and shining, and a crystal vase holding a single pink rose.

Spike bustled over to the table with a tray in his hands. He carefully scooped two piping-hot potato pancakes onto her plate, then gestured at two white china bowls. “Sour cream and applesauce,” he said. “Oh! Nearly forgot!” He hurried away again. When he returned he was carrying a stemmed glass and a bottle of white wine. He poured some of the wine into the glass and set it in front of her. It was bubbling wine, sort of salmon-pink colored.

She stared at her plate. The latkes were brown and glistening, apparently perfectly cooked. “What are you doing?” she asked, sounding slightly pathetic.

“Told you. Frying. Now eat up while they’re hot.”

Almost automatically, she spooned a little sour cream over the pancakes and picked up the knife and fork. Spike watched a little anxiously as she took a bite. “Mmm!” she exclaimed. “This is really good!”

Spike beamed for a moment and then stepped back to the stove. “More on the way,” he said with his back to her.

She shoveled in another mouthful. They were the best latkes she had ever had: crisp on the outside, fluffy on the inside, rich but not too dense. “You’re making me potato pancakes,” she announced with her mouth full.

“Knew you were a smart bird.”

“But… _why_?”

He didn’t turn to look at her, but instead poured more batter into the pan. It sizzled when it hit the hot oil. “Used to be a fair hand in the kitchen, back in my human days. We were short on dosh and Mum had to let the cook go, and I rather fancied cooking anyhow. It’s an art, like making poetry with food. And it turns out that vamp senses help—can smell everything really well. Vamps would make bloody good chefs if they weren’t trying to drain people all the time.”

Willow realized that as he’d been speaking, she had cleaned her plate. She gazed down at the empty china. “I don’t get why you’re doing this.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he remained at the stove, squishing the pancakes and then turning them. A few moments later he transferred them to his paper-towel-lined tray and then brought them to the table, where he put them on Willow’s plate. He watched as she put applesauce on one and sour cream on the other and took an enormous bite of each.

“You were disappointed over last night,” he finally said.

“Well, yeah. I mean, I planned and I peeled and grated and…and life’s like that. Disappointments.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t always have to be. Sometimes there are good surprises as well.”

She peered up at him. “Like waking up to a latke-flipping vampire in your kitchen?”

“Like that,” he grinned. Then his face grew serious. “And like friends who take you in even though you’re a monster, and make you feel wanted. Like you might belong somewhere.” He bent over and, very quickly, gave her a chaste little kiss atop her messy hair. Then he walked away again, back to the stove.

Willow dug into the pancakes and wondered how many of the glorious things she could eat without getting sick. Okay, so officially Hanukkah was over. But it wasn’t like celebrating a day late was a crime. She chewed and watched Spike, who was working away in her green apron, humming a tune. And she smiled. Maybe after the food was gone Spike would be up for a few rounds of dreidel.

 

 _  
~~~fin~~~  
_

 

 

 

 

  



End file.
